


Sherlock and World War Three

by Sherlock1110, sherlockian4evr



Series: When Paths Collide [3]
Category: Doctor Who, Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alien Spaceships, Aliens, Crossover, Curious Sherlock, Frustrated John, Gen, M/M, Protective Big Brother Mycroft, Skewed Timelines
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-13
Updated: 2016-02-13
Packaged: 2018-05-20 03:59:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5990959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sherlock1110/pseuds/Sherlock1110, https://archiveofourown.org/users/sherlockian4evr/pseuds/sherlockian4evr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock gains that little bit more information that Mycroft had been trying so hard to keep from him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sherlock and World War Three

Sherlock was trying to behave and ignore everything that was going on, but Downing Street was still isolated and under lockdown. Of course, it was all over the tele. His eyes kept drifting to it, despite his best efforts. When he saw the captain from the RAF, the Deputy Director of the Scottish Parliament member and the chairman of some boating club arrive, it was too much for him. What connected those completely random individuals? It was so obvious that even the news reporter mentioned the unimportance of them.  He couldn't take it anymore. There was too much information flying around his head. He needed to either delete it or get more to make it make sense. 

He got to his feet and made for the door. 

“Sherlock Holmes, where do you think you are going?”

The detective spluttered for a moment, his hand pointing from the tele to the door and back again. “John!” He strode straight up to the doctor and did his best to loom. “The people going to Downing Street. It doesn't make any sense! I have to see what connects them.”

“And how will leaving the flat without my say so help you acquire this information?”

“I… it… I mean to say… you would… grrr, I don't know!” He threw his hands up in the air in frustration. “I just don't know!”

“Then sit your arse down on the sofa!” John punctuated his statement by a jab of his hand in the sofa's direction.

Sherlock threw himself down on the indicated piece of furniture with deliberate force. He reached for his laptop, only to have the doctor confiscate it.

“Normally a crisis arises and Mycroft practically drags you into the centre of it. Now, I don't know why he doesn't want you involved, but he has to have a good reason.” He held out his hand. “Phone.”

“John…”

“Now, Sherlock!” The doctor couldn't stop thinking about when they'd been back in that smelly dungeon cell, that had been to protect him, no them. Mycroft had opened his mouth to explain with great reluctance, even if Sherlock had shot him down. 

The detective didn't move to comply.

“Hand it over, right now.”

“Or what?”

“Remember, I told you once I had bad days?” John asked.

Sherlock gave him an appraising look and a slow nod.

“Then don't push me. Now, phone.”

“Why should I? This is a case John, an actual case! One that can alleviate my boredom for so long! I mean, a member of the RAF, fair enough, but what has Scotland got to do with this and some random boating club? What connects them? There has to be something!” He threw himself back to his feet. 

John grabbed him by his shirt and snatched his phone from his hand. He shoved him back in the chair. “Sit there and do not move.”

When Sherlock moved to get up again, John sat on him.

“Get off me!”

“Nope. I can sit here all day. And all night, for that matter.”

“John!” He moaned. 

“No, you are going to bloody well do as you are told! Your brother wants you here because he wants you safe and I bloody well am more than inclined to agree with him.”

“How is this different than what we've done before? We've tracked killers across London. Then there were the terrorists. This can't be any more dangerous.”

“When your brother points us in the direction of a case, he knows you and I are capable of the risks that may arise. That is how this is different!”

Sherlock didn't say anything for a moment, then he tried to throw John off of him. It didn't work.

“At least let me go back to where those people came out of that box. I might be able to deduce something. And the police would have cleared off by now. 

John looked sceptical at best.  

“Think about it, you'll have your SIG and I will drive you mad if we have to stay in.”

It took a moment, but John relented. “Fine.”

It seemed like next to no time they were climbing out of the cab at the Powell Estate and John was haring off after Sherlock. He caught him up by the phone box. He was running his finger over the paint at the front. “Bad wolf? What's bad wolf?”

John shrugged. “Is it important?”

“Probably not.” He pulled his lock picking kit from his pocket and tried at the lock. “What could be important is the fact that this simple Yale lock is keeping me out.”

“You can't pick it?” John was looking around, keeping an eye out for anyone or anything that may give them bother. But he was extremely surprised his detective couldn't pick any lock let alone one so basic. 

“Nope. Can you smell gas?”

John sniffed. “No.”

“Well your nose is an idiot.”

Sherlock followed it like a bloodhound it brought them to a flat with the door wide open. There was a cracked chair on its side. 

“Some sort of struggle,” John suggested. 

“Possibly.” The detective continued to look around. “Probably. There were three people here, then one just disappears, and there are these bigger footsteps. The other two go that way.” He nodded up the balcony. 

“Come along, John!” Sherlock started moving in the direction the pair had gone. “They could be hurt.” He'd appealed to the doctor part of his friend, that should prevent any objections. At the sound of John following him, he smiled. It had worked. 

Sherlock raced around yet another corner and when John caught him up, he nearly fell over him. “Bloody hell, Sherlock!” 

The detective had crouched down looking at the footprints. “You could have given me some warning, you bloody idiot.”

Sherlock waved a hand dismissively as he spoke, “From the size and spacing of the footprints, I'd say we're following a man and a woman. They were running. Afraid of something.”

“Ok. Well warn me next time you want to shove your arse in my face, yeah?”

Sherlock snorted a laugh, stood and was off once again. John grumbled, but kept close on his heels. After what seemed an interminable amount of time, their roamings brought them to another flat. The door was ajar and a reeking smell emanated from the interior.

“That smell is extremely similar to the last place.”

“And what is all this shit all over the floor?” It looked like green jelly, at least that was the only thing John could relate it to. 

“Never mind that,” Sherlock was holding his head to one side and finger up. “Can you hear that noise?”

“Yeah,” John's face had gone extremely distant. 

“You recognise it don't you?” When there was no response he gripped John's shoulder. “Babe?”

“Missile,” he whispered. 

Both men turned and rushed out into the open just in time to see the flash of the missile's impact and, a moment later, to hear the sound. Black smoke billowed up in the distance and they were certain they knew the source. The detective even knew where.

Sherlock ripped out his mobile and hit speed dial, his anger at his brother forgotten, and he held his breath as he willed Mycroft to answer. For once his brother picked up immediately. 

“Sherlock? Are you ok? Please tell me you haven't done something incredibly stupid.”

“I'm fine, Mycie, I promise. I'm with John. The other side of town. You and Greg aren't at Downing Street, are you?”

“No. We got called away, on urgent business. Thank god you two aren't either.” Sherlock could clearly hear his brother's distress. “We'll be over within an hour.”

Mycroft rang off and as Sherlock turned, placing his phone in his pocket, it was to find John sat on the floor against the wall, hugging his knees. 

Sherlock crouched down in front of the doctor and settled a hand on his arm. “John, what's wrong? Flashback? Are you having a flashback?”

John lifted his head and looked at Sherlock. When he spoke, his voice was trembling. “That could have been you. You could have been there and I would have lost you.”

“But I wasn't, I was with you. Like I always am. Like I always will be.”

John's breaths were coming deep and loud as Sherlock helped him to his feet. They needed to not be here. Neither was aware of the two people inside the flat. 

The doctor wrapped his arms around him. “You are coming back to Baker Street and are not leaving my sight.”

Feeling John arms around him shake, Sherlock wisely chose not to argue. As soon as the doctor had recovered enough, Sherlock started them moving in the general direction of Baker Street. When they reached a more crowded area, he waved down a cab. One pulled up in seconds. 

John's left hand continued to shake in the cab, and he dropped Sherlock's wallet as he pulled it from his pocket. 

“It's fine,” he whispered. “Go in, I'll sort it.”

“No!” He snapped. “You'll rush off on some mad adventure. Pay the man,” he ordered sharply, he still couldn't look away. 

Sherlock obeyed and let John drag him towards the flat by his scarf. 

Mrs. Hudson greeted them at the door. “Oh, John, Sherlock, dears. Isn't it dreadful? All the things on the news - the alien hoax and Downing Street and all those government people dead.” She brought a handkerchief up to her mouth and covered her heart with her other hand.

John refused to let Sherlock's scarf go and Mrs. Hudson immediately saw his concern even as she wrapped her arms around both boys.

She let them go and urged them up the stairs. “I'll make you tea to settle you both down, but just this once. I'm not your housekeeper.”

“You said that 7 years ago Mrs. Hudson,” Sherlock pointed out.

She waved her hand dismissively and rushed out of the door. 

John took a seat in his chair and pulled Sherlock onto his lap by the scarf he still hasn't released.

The detective wrapped his arms around John and held him tightly. He would offer what reassurance he could. At the sound of Mycroft and Greg's footsteps in the stairwell, he let out a sigh. He really didn't want to hear his brother say 'I told you so.'

What he wasn't expecting was his brother to drop Greg's hand and race to him. He was pulled to his feet by the older man and crushed in a hug. 

Sherlock went stiff in Mycroft's arms, then he let himself relax into it. He found he was actually as relieved to see his brother as Mycroft seemed to be to see him. They broke apart.

Even Greg's relief was obvious to read on his face. “I really thought...” He broke off and swallowed. “I just knew you two were in the middle of it. When Myc's phone rang...” The DI sprang forward and hugged Sherlock who was nearer than John. “Don't you dare scare your brother like that again!”

Sherlock looked back over his shoulder at John and mouthed, 'Do something.'

“Not a hope in hell,” John mumbled. 

Mycroft was suddenly next to the doctor. “I asked you to keep him safe. I asked you to keep him from the biggest case he has ever seen. I asked you the impossible and still you managed…” he broke off. 

Almost as shocking as the events of the day, Mycroft hugged John. The doctor wasn't certain, but he thought he might be going into shock from it. “Greg,” he croaked out as soon as the government official let him go, “Do you have a shock blanket in the car? I think I might need it.”

“Sorry, mate.” The DI gave a shaky laugh. “Myc's men drove us here.”

“Yeah, right.” John's knees gave out and he dropped unceremoniously into his chair again.

Even as Sherlock knelt to check on John, he spoke to his brother. “It wasn't a hoax. That's just a line being fed to the media.”

“I knew you would find out eventually, I knew I couldn't keep it from you. I had to try.”

“And the blue box?” Sherlock queried.

Mycroft took a deep breath. “Please don't ask me that.”

Seeing the look on everyone's faces, Sherlock dropped the conversation. 

John grabbed him and pulled him down onto his lap.

“It's okay, John. I'm fine. I'm, really, really fine. Believe me,” Sherlock urged.

The doctor buried his face in Sherlock's chest. “And what about next time?”

Sherlock sighed and dropped his head. He knew what he put John through now every time he went out without him. He'd felt that for Mycroft mere minutes ago. And now he felt guilty. Extremely guilty. 

“There won't be a next time, not like this.” He held on tight to his doctor. “I won't leave you behind and I'll listen. Promise.”

Mycroft leant down, grabbed Sherlock and pulled him up again. He wrapped his arms around him. “You now know what I have been saying all these years. You worry me, 'Lock.”

“I know Myc. I know and I'm sorry.” Sherlock had never meant the words more in his life.


End file.
